At last they separated. Jean took his stick; Marie-Rose, pale, but composed, said: "Adieu, Jean!" And he, without answering, hurried out, breathing as if something was choking him.
I followed him. We descended the dark little staircase, and on the threshold, where the moon, covered with clouds, cast a feeble ray, we also kissed each other.
"You do not want anything?" I said, for I had put about fifty francs in my pocket.
"No," said he, "I have all that I need."
We held each other's hands as if we could never let go, and we looked at each other as if we could read each other's hearts.
And, as I felt my lips quiver:
"Come, father," said he, in a trembling voice, "have courage; we are men!"
Then he strode away. I looked at him vanishing in the darkness, blessing him in my heart. I thought I saw him turn and wave his hat at the corner of the path, by the rock, but I am not sure.
When I went in, Marie-Rose was seated on a chair by the open window, her head buried in her hands, weeping bitterly. The poor child had been courageous up to the last minute, but then her heart had melted into tears.
I said nothing to her, and, leaving the small lamp on the table, I went into my room.